


500 Words: 402. Rabelaisian

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Post S3, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 500 Words entry; this one's admittedly a bit of a stretch as far as the word goes, but since my goal was to write some Phrack smut, I'm counting it as good.</p><p>This one's for Fire_Sign - happy birthday, my friend!</p>
            </blockquote>





	500 Words: 402. Rabelaisian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> _adjective  Ra·be·lai·sian \_ _ˌra-bə-_ _ˈl_ _ā-zhən, -zē-ən\_  
>  1:  of, relating to, or characteristic of Rabelais or his works  
> 2:  marked by gross robust humor, extravagance of caricature, or bold naturalism

Jack stood on the balcony in the cool London evening, waiting. He had attended more than half a dozen parties with Phryne in the weeks since he’d appeared on the doorstep of her London townhouse, each one sillier than the last. The same crowd seemed to attend them all, young men and women playing at being grown up; their attempts at Rabelaisian behavior seemed to Jack to veer into the juvenile, often coming across as far more coarse than humorous. Phryne sparkled in social settings, however, and he never tired of watching her captivate the crowd with her glittering presence.

During the third party at which he’d spent the evening watching Phryne’s body move in her beautifully tailored clothing, Jack had take action to mitigate his tedium. And Phryne had shown him just how appreciative she’d been for his initiative; finding a private corner in which to ravish each other while the party continued without them had become a game. And Jack was certain that, had they been keeping score, they’d both be winning.

Phryne had seen Jack’s signal, and she’d shivered, knowing what was to come. Stepping outside, she didn’t see him immediately, and she fought to keep herself from craning her neck to find him. She’d felt his eyes on her like feather touches all evening, skimming her breasts, her buttocks, even dipping between her legs, and she was ready for tonight’s adventure. In London, Jack had been even more delicious than he had been in Melbourne; she supposed that he had more leeway here to be only Jack the man, and it seemed that Jack the man had a delightful tendency to misbehave.

It wasn’t until he moved that she spotted him; he was leaning against the railing off to one side, tucked behind a large urn. He watched her as she moved toward him, and when she came close, he opened his arms and she nestled against his warm chest. Raising her arms to loop them around his neck, Phryne pressed herself against him, his hard length a strip of heat against her belly.

“My first thought,” he murmured against her ear, his voice a caress, “was to press you against the wall there and fuck you without a word between us.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, and she felt the tiniest flick of his tongue. His hands had dropped to her bottom, stroking her soft flesh through the silk of her gown.

“But you decided against it, it seems,” Phryne whispered in return, her lips sipping at his earlobe.

“Mmm, yes,” he replied, his breath hot against her neck. “Too rough; might snag your dress, and that would be a shame.” His hands on her bottom gripped, and she rose on her toes to push herself harder against him.

“My second thought, then,” he said, “was to boost you to sit on this railing and put my head beneath your skirt to fuck you with my tongue.”

“Oh, lovely,” she breathed, “though that would still leave you unfulfilled.”

“Indeed,” he said, his mouth now trailing across her collarbone and one hand moving up to pinch her nipple through her bodice. “Not to mention that the stone would be rather chilly against your very,” he nipped a little at the skin of her shoulder, “tender parts.”

“Fair enough,” she said, arching her neck to urge his kisses along. “So have you decided, then?”

“I have,” he replied, his voice gravelly with desire. In another moment, he had straightened up and stepped around her, pressing himself to her back. “I plan to take you from behind, right here, with all of your young friends none the wiser.” With that, he dropped his hands to her hips and began to gather her dress up to reveal her very bare bottom.

“Oh, Jack,” she gasped, “you have the best ideas.” And she turned her head to capture his lips with hers.

Jack met her tongue with his as he slid one hand between her thighs to test her readiness; he was unsurprised to feel that she was dripping wet. Trapping her skirt between them with his hip, he moved to unfasten his trousers and free himself; his hand between her thighs slipped around to anchor at her hip. Bending his knees, he aligned himself and pushed, slipping easily inside her body.

“Jaaaack,” Phryne said his name on an indrawn breath as she felt him begin to pump his hips slowly, each withdrawal slow and incomplete. She raised an arm to his shoulder, sliding under his jacket and waistcoat to wrap her hand in his braces for purchase as she tilted her pelvis to give him a better angle. “Ohh, yes… ohhhh, fuuuuuck.”

Jack’s breathing had grown choppy, and he’d slid the hand on her hip around to cup her mons, his long fingers playing her clitoris like an instrument, her soft moans music to his ears. His other hand cupped her breast, squeezing her soft flesh, rubbing the soft silk of her bodice against her skin and thrumming her nipple with his thumb.

“You feel so good, Phryne,” he rumbled against her mouth. “Soft and wet and tight…” She bent forward a little, squeezing her internal muscles against his hardness and reveling in the groan the motion pulled out of him. Her unanchored hand reached behind to grasp his thrusting buttock, and she squeezed him there, too. His head dropped to her shoulder, his mouth opening against her neck, and she could feel the heat of his breath washing across her night-cooled skin.

“Good Lord, do I need a ciggie,” the drawling voice was male, and Phryne was certain that if she’d had any brain left to consider it, she would have recognized it. As it was, the best she could do was freeze; she felt Jack freeze too, cock pressed deep inside her body, fingers pressing at her clit and her breast.

The sound of a lighter striking came from the opposite side of the urn they stood behind, and soon the sweet smell of tobacco floated toward them on the breeze.

“Frightful crush tonight,” a different voice came, this one also male, but deeper than the first. “I can’t believe that Nigel would draw such a crowd.”

Behind Phryne, Jack raised the hand on her breast to cover her mouth as his fingers on her clit began to strum again. He didn’t move his hips, instead pressing the heel of his hand against her pelvis to hold her in place. Phryne couldn’t keep herself from pulsing her hips against him, tiny thrusts against his fingers that didn’t change the position of the hard length within her.

“It’s the drinks,” the first man said again, his tone sardonic, “Nigel’s cellar is first class.”

“What do you think, Phryne?” Jack’s whisper against her ear was barely more than a breath. “Does it excite you to be fucking not five feet from a couple of your society chaps?” He caught her earlobe between his teeth and felt her gasp against his muffling hand; she clenched her inner muscles around him, drawing a harsh inhalation from him in return.

“I’ll agree with that, old chap,” came the second voice. The speaker made an inarticulate noise as he sucked on his cigarette. “It’s what brought me here. That, and the women. Nigel knows some choice bits of calico.”

“Do you want to come, Phryne?” Jack could feel the tension building in her body, and he quietly began to thrust again, being careful not to go so quickly that the sounds of their bodies would be audible to the two men.

In response, Phryne opened her mouth to set her teeth gently into the sides of his middle finger; Jack curled the digit and Phryne sucked it into her mouth, her tongue stroking its length. He drew in another ragged breath and the fingers between her thighs sped up their thrumming rhythm.

“Right,” they heard the second man say. “Once more into the breach, my friend?” There was a sharp sound, as if one man had clapped the other on the shoulder, and their voices receded.

Jack lifted his head, listening. When he didn’t hear any other intruders, he began to thrust in earnest, panting out her name, his fingers on her clit now pressing and releasing with the movements of his hips and his hand over her mouth dropping back to her breast.

In only a few more thrusts, Phryne shuddered as orgasm washed over her, and she covered her own mouth to muffle her wail of release. Jack continued to thrust, feeling the pulsing of her body along his shaft with each push into her body. When he came, his hands tightened convulsively against her and he pressed his face into her shoulder to stifle his groan.

After a few moments, Jack wrapped his arms more fully around her in a hug, kissing her neck before he disengaged his body from hers. He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket—he’d taken to carrying an extra for just such occasions—and helped her clean up before smoothing her skirt back down over her derriere. He tucked himself back inside his trousers and straightened his braces where she’d been clutching them, then leaned back against the railing so that she could reach to wipe the lipstick off of his face.

“Well, Jack,” she said, “you certainly know how to liven up a party.” She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist, grinning cheekily up at him. “Perhaps I’ll have to accept some more invitations, just to let you stretch your imagination.”

“I almost wouldn’t mind that,” he drawled, smirking down at her. “Your participation in my little game has made these parties infinitely more interesting.”

“Perhaps I can help you come up with some ideas for the next few soirees,” she purred. “And you can demonstrate some of the ideas you’re contemplating.”

“You have the best ideas, Miss Fisher,” he replied. She stepped back, sliding her hand down his arm to press her palm against his and twining their fingers together.

“Let’s go home, Jack,” she said, heading back into the house, his hand clasped securely in hers.


End file.
